


the peachpit prince

by syn0dic



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Original Fairy Tale, fairy tale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:22:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syn0dic/pseuds/syn0dic
Summary: a romantic fairy tale from fodlan featuring some....familiar characters.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Leonie Pinelli
Comments: 11
Kudos: 36





	the peachpit prince

Once, long ago, in a kingdom now gone, there was a young mercenary. She was swift footed, as bright as the sun and as strong as ten men, and her heart was noble. Born poor was she, but her reputation grew far and wide, of songs in drinking taverns and the courts of nobles alike.

Upon hearing of the young mercenary’s strength, the king of the lands called her into his court. He had a single daughter, treasured and cherished, for she had been adopted into his family as a poor orphan, after he and his wife could bear no children. His lone daughter was quiet, but greatly did she love the creatures of the earth, and beautiful was her long hair, as blue as the sky. For her he sought one to protect her as she rode her horse, and the swift footed young mercenary was a legend. Promptly did she agree, and each morning, she would tend to the princess’s horse as if it was her own, and ride by her side.

Four seasons after the mercenary had ridden by her side, the princess arrived one morning, weeping in sorrow.

“What troubles you?” the mercenary asked, soft and kind.

“Soon I shall dismiss you,” lamented the princess, “for I shall be wed, and never again shall I be allowed to ride my horse or sing to the birds, and never again shall I be a free woman. My father is going to make me a bride.” Upon hearing these words, the mercenary could feel her heart break. The princess was dear to her, and seeing her so mournful was a great pain. The mercenary made a plan.

That night, the mercenary walked deep into the forest, lit not even by the moon, and stopped and stood, and prayed to the Goddess that she would be heard. “Ashen demon,” spoke she, “I have come to make a deal.”

From the smoke and mist came the spirit. “What is the deal?” they hissed, and the mercenary, though fearful, stood strong.

“One who is dear to me is to be wed very soon. I must free her,” said the mercenary.

“Ah,” said the ashen demon, and in the palm of their hand, they produced a single peach. “I can make you into the finest prince that has ever been seen. You shall be dressed lavishly, and have the wealth of a thousand lands. The courts shall bow to your name. But,” said the ashen demon, “the enchantment only works for as long as the pit of the peach is in your mouth. You may not eat nor drink nor speak while you are the prince. Now what do you offer me, mercenary?”

“I have no money,” said she, “and there is little I have that would be of value to you, ashen one. I offer myself.”

“I see,” said the ashen demon. “Then I shall accept. In three days, if you fail, then you shall become a wraith of mine. Is this to your satisfaction, mercenary?”

“It is,” said the mercenary, taking the peach from the ashen demon’s hand.

The next evening, dozens of princes and lords from lands near and far arrived, seeking the hand of the princess who was said to be as beautiful and as sad as a winter’s moon. With grace she accepted their bows and flattery, but her heart was mourning with each new proposal of theirs. All of the princes, lordlings, and rich men were announced, and a feast was to begin, whereupon her father would declare the conditions of marriage to his daughter, and the first bottle of wine had not yet been uncorked when the door opened again.

A tall, broad shouldered prince, with long, radiant orange hair and eyes, and a beautiful coat of the most magnificent peach colored velvet and satin, emblazoned in gold, followed by a procession of pages and knights, of musicians and trumpetters and flags, entered-- and as she approached the princess’s throne, the crowd parted to make way for the ocean of splendid oranges and peaches and tangerines and marigolds. She did not say a word, but had a knowing smile on her face, as if something were to assure her-- the princess would love _her_.

The prince knelt at the foot of the princess, and offered a single splendid lily to her without a word. Silently did the princess accept it, and though the king asked the young stranger many a question, she did not answer, nor did she partake in the splendid feasts or sip the flowing wine. It was after every plate emptied and every cask was drained, that the king rose to his feet.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “today we celebrate the future marriage of my daughter!” The crowd shouted in a raucous, joyous chorus. “In three days I shall announce who she is to wed. Tomorrow, we will hunt, for a good husband is a good hunter.” There was another cry of joy, and the peach prince smiled, because she knew the forest as well as any deer or rabbit could.

That night after the festivities ended, the prince went to the guest chambers prepared for her, and spat out the peachpit. The mercenary looked in the mirror, and was content to see that once more, she was herself. The illusions vanished like smoke, and she was content to find that once more she was in her simple riding gear, her ginger hair short again. She slept comfortably that night, and in the morning, she awoke, ravenously ate the breakfast left outside her door, and put the peachpit back in her mouth.

The king, mounted upon his horse, called to the suitors. “Whoever,” he said, “that brings back the most beautiful skin for my daughter, that she enjoys the best, shall in my eyes gain favor.”

The hounds brayed, and many men set off, hunting and killing indiscriminately. But the peach prince, silent, mounted her horse, and threw aside her bow. “The princess loves all things that live,” she thought to herself, and in her splendid riding regalia and upon her beautiful horse, she searched.

As she rode through the woods, she could hear the braying of the other men’s hounds, and though she made it a long distance into the deep parts of the woods, she could not find an animal suitable as a gift to her princess. She dismounted and leaned against a tree in dismay, sipping some water from her skin, and found, behind her, a young rabbit, as small as the palm of her hand, a dun brown little thing. Scooping it gently, she thought of her princess, who would care for it kindly, and how she would far prefer a living young rabbit to a pelt. She returned to the party, the last one, the rabbit blanketed in her cape.

“What has he brought?” whispered one man who held in his hands a snow white fox skin.

“It seems so small,” said another who had an axis deer slung over his shoulders.

“I wonder if he found anything at all,” said one more, who had a bag full of birds.

But the peach prince said nothing, for she knew what she carried.

One by one, at the end of the evening, each suitor brought their animal skins forward. The princess was distraught, and upset by each bloody pelt put before her. In tears, she expected little more from the peach prince. But she knelt before the princess, and held out the live little rabbit, wrapped in her cape.

“Thank you,” said the princess, her brown eyes brimming with tears. “Thank you.”

But the peach prince said nothing, though she did smile. The other suitors were beginning to grow suspicious of the stranger, but since she seemingly said little, and ate less, they could not accuse her of being here only for the festivities, or only to gain favor with other kings and queens and lords, so they were faced to conclude that the prince was genuine.

“Tomorrow,” said the king, “I shall awaken you early. Be prepared to ride.”

That night, the mercenary spat out the peachpit and fell right to sleep, too tired to do much else. She awoke to the sound of the bell, and put the peachpit in her mouth, her beautiful princely riding gear materializing upon her and her beautiful horse appearing outside. She strode to meet the others, head held high. The princess stood beside her father, her bright white horse by her side, in her riding gear.

“You are to beat my daughter in a horse race,” said he. “She is fast, and brilliant. She knows these woods well. You are to meet her where the silver river meets the ocean.”

“This will be easy,” said one man.

“She is a princess,” said another.

“I am sure I will win,” said the last. But the mercenary knew the roads the princess knew that would take her there the fastest, and she knew the princess could ride like the wind.

The king sent them off, and though the princess began slowly, none of the suitors could catch up with her, and quickly lost her in the woods-- except the peach prince, who rode by her side with ease. Though she rode through the darkest parts of the woods, following not the meander of the river, but the flight of the crow, she could not shake the peach prince. She smiled at the princess, riding easily side by side with her, and before midday, the two arrived at the beach, long before any of the other suitors.

“You didn’t win,” said the princess quietly, but the peach prince only nodded and dismounted, sitting down in the sand as they awaited the king and the other suitors. Though the wine flowed that night and the dinner was rich and decadent, the prince did not eat, or drink, or speak.

“Tomorrow,” said the king after the feast, “prepare for a grand ball! Bring my daughter the finest of gifts, for tomorrow night, I shall choose her husband.”

The peach prince, collapsing onto her bed, was exasperated, and spit out the peachpit once more. Any gift which she gave to the princess would vanish as soon as she spat out the peachpit afterwards, and she could not speak at the ball. But she needed to free the princess. So, the mercenary awoke early the next morning, and hunted down as many beautiful wildflowers as she could, gathering them into a great bunch, and one and all, arranging and protecting them, making them into a lovely bouquet of the sweet blues and whites of her hair.

Then, as she could no longer hide in her own room, the mercenary put the pit of the peach in her mouth, and immediately was the peach prince once more, but impeccably, handsomely dressed, with gold and white and the vivid peaches and fair pinks and greens that he had outfitted himself in all the times before. The peach prince arrived in the ballroom, and although the princess was obligated to dance with them all, she spoke little, and seemed to the prince’s eyes, to be very, very sad.

The prince danced with her, her great blue gown as soft and radiant as moonlight while she seemed to glow like the sun, but still, she did not speak to him, and she could not speak to her. Though they danced four dances together, she barely said a word, and the prince was beginning to doubt herself.

The gifts were finally offered-- an ornate silver birdcage decorated with diamonds and sapphires was first, then a necklace made from starlight itself, a silk wedding gown woven from the finest silk one could find, and one suitor even had the audacity to present her with a ring.

But the peach prince presented her with the flowers-- and she could have sworn, that she saw the princess almost, almost smile.

“My dear,” said the king, “I would like you to choose a husband.”

The princess rose, and put a hand on the peach prince.

“I shall choose him,” she said, “as my husband. I shall be the queen in his kingdom, and I shall be his wife.”

“Then let us dance all through the night!” said the king, “for tomorrow in the morning you shall be wed.”

Though many suitors were sore on the matter, the princess hastened the peach prince away from the ballroom, and upon the stairs she spoke to him.

“I have chosen you,” spoke she, her voice quiet and soft, “not out of affection, but because you have done the least hurt to others and you are at the least, kind to me. I love another,” said the princess. “I shall not love you, ever, in my life, for she is always going to be in my heart. The woman who has protected me for a year, who tends to my horse like it is her own, who is as fleet footed as the wind-- that is who I shall love. My duty is now to you,” said the princess, “but she is my love.”

At that moment, the tears began to stream down the face of the peach prince, and finally, she took the pit out of her mouth. The tall, handsome young man was replaced with the strong young woman with short orange hair, and the princely attire was replaced for the plain pajamas that she’d worn that morning when she’d prepared herself. And, the princess began to weep bitterly.

“There, there,” said the mercenary, holding her tightly. “I love you as you have loved me, and I fear that I always shall. But I am not a prince,” she said. “I would wed you a thousand times if you would have me, but your father will never take me as his family, or allow us to marry.”

“My father would only give my hand to a prince,” lamented the princess, “and now, you are no such thing.”

“Ah!” said the mercenary. “He knows not whether I am a prince or a humble mercenary, so for as long as we must, I will remain a prince before his eyes.”

“But what shall I do?” said the princess, fearful. “You have no kingdom, where shall we go?”

“We’ll run away,” said the mercenary, kissing her forehead. “You and I shall go far from here after we wed, and we shall live somewhere in the woods, and we shall care for one another.”

And so, the next morning, the peach prince transformed for the final time to meet her bride, and the both of them went on a journey to his "kingdom", from which they never sought to return. The mercenary threw the pit of the peach into the fire, where she could never reclaim it again, turning it back to ash.

.....

“Hey, Marianne, check it, it’s another one of the ones that mention the ashen demon.” Leonie, the young researcher, held up the yellowed parchment. “I guess this goes in that collection. This one is kind of romantic, though.”

“Oh?” Marianne scanned it over her girlfriend’s shoulder, pushing back her loose hair. “That’s sweet, Leonie.”

“It sounds kind of like us,” she joked. “Would you still love me if I was a prince, Marianne?”

“I guess I would,” she said with a light smile, kissing her cheek sweetly. “Now would you hand me the box over there?”


End file.
